I climbed over a wooden stair that breached a barbed wire fence. The top row of the barbed wire was frayed and broken. I ducked to avoid it and shimmied my way through a row of berry bushes. Freshly plowed furrows of farmland were at my feet. And so were clods of dirt which stuck to my shoes like glue!
I was determined. And, like a tiger hunting a wildebeest on the prairie, my eyes never left my prey . . my golf ball which had uncharacteristically launched itself out of bounds after, what I consider to be, a pretty good series of coordinated, cat-like moves on the diminutive white orb. Aghast! A definite two stroke penalty. But, at least, I found my golf ball.
Such was the kind of day this was going to be. Rainy for the first half of the round and a beautiful, but cold afternoon as I found some hope in reviving my golf game.
This day we went out to René and Elsy’s home course, Faulquemont Golf Course. Is was a long course, the fourth most difficult, in France. And, we found it to be difficult. Long and very hilly . . and, of course, when it was raining it was difficult to attack. But, it was a day with good friends in the countryside.
This part of France is more rural. The small towns were charming, old and all distinctive. St. Avold, Sarreguemines, Forbach. . . we drove through them on the way to golf. The roads were all winding because of the hills and valleys and the Faulquemont Golf Course is on the top of one of those hills.
On the 17th fairway I hit a three wood across a ravine about 250 yards wide. I knew it was improbable that the ball would traverse the whole of the chasm, but perhaps it might land short on the grass of the steep up slope or even in the sand trap that bordered the front of the green. If you never try, you never cross the great chasm!!
I was optimistic, hopeful. I hit it well. I looked up, but the sun kept me from seeing it. I never saw the ball again.